Blaring at a million decibels through the
airwaves like an Indian's arrow soaring through the
hot, desert, day.

OVER and OVER and OVER again!

Feeling like a jailed fugitive forced to watch.

OVER and OVER and OVER again!

Caught in the moment like a stray bullet
f-e-e-l-i-n-g the anger rush to my head. “Turn
it down!” I scream in my head.

OVER and OVER and OVER again!

Every day, the sounds of the blaring TV remind me
that my once simple and carefree life has changed
forever. Gone are the days of careless wonder
and freedom. Choices to sleep in or get
up and go are long gone! Now I live the life
of a caregiver. One I didn’t choose, but
willingly do. In many ways, I am proud to do
this job, this task, this commitment. “But why
do I harbor these feelings of anger?” I ask myself.

Anger manifests itself in many ways. Too
much eating, drinking, sarcasm, not enough sleep.
Feeling denial, avoidance and guilt. Slowly
moving from optimism into pessimism. Fearful
these manifestations will rear their ugly heads to
the person I most deeply care about, love, and
gladly take care of. Will he feel this
anger? Will he feel my resentment? I wonder.
Or will he understand and know that I love him very
much and would do anything for him? Will he
understand that this frustration is only my
inability to cope? My – sheer – inability to
cope with his slipping into the depths of aging –
and death.

Aging that smells like death with its essence of
crisp Clorox, ready to wipe away whatwas once
youthful and vibrant.

Aging that creeps up like a dark vine clinging to
a tree. Slowly suffocating life away and
bonding with death.

Aging going unnoticed while the young simply
forget to notice because they are in love with what
each new day holds.

Life, Happiness, Newness, and Beginnings.

But, it waits for no one, I tell you. And
suddenly it appears –

Like the end of a long day… and taking me with
it.

Mechelle Abney is a
caregiver for her 82 year old father who is living
with Alzheimer’s disease. She moved in with
him about eight months ago to take care of him and
enjoys knowing her father as she remembers him.
She says, “writing shares my emotional turmoil of
taking care of someone and the aging process.”